What The Butler Found
by Maple Fay
Summary: Four Times Mr. Carson Found Porn In Possession Of His Employees And Almost Overlooked It—And One Time He Did Something Else Entirely. Based on a kink-meme prompt a friend of mine posted on Tumblr a while ago. Not to be taken seriously...


**Four Times Mr. Carson Found Porn In Possession Of His Employees And (Almost) Overlooked It—And One Time He Did Something Else Entirely**

_I blame V. for posting a kink-meme on Tumblr a while ago (how could you? :P) and making me want to write this._

_The author of the prompt promised additional cookies for a variety of 'material' the butler encouters, and I do like cookies, so… ;)_

_It's T-rated, I suppose. Nothing overly graphic, so perhaps not REALLY a kink meme, but what did you expect at 10 in the morning?… (And, naturally, it shouldn't be taken seriously…)_

* * *

**Thomas**

Sometimes he checks the footmen's rooms to make sure they are doing alright, have everything they need, and keep up the standards of the household. It all begins 'at home', so to speak.

He would never go as far as opening the drawers or reading through personal correspondence, that would be uncalled for—so the fact that he finds what he does is not at all his fault. He hasn't been prying. It was the room's occupant that had been… careless, he supposes, as he turns the thing in his hands, finding himself rather fascinated by it. The shape… the firm heaviness… the way it fits in his palm, much like the _real_—

He hastily puts it back down on the bed, half-covered by a blanket (exactly the way he found it) and wipes the hand that held it in his jacket, his breath coming out in short puffs he associates with anger and confusion (_for what else could it possibly mean?_). Stepping quietly out of the room, he's stopped dead-on in his tracks, a frown forming on his forehead.

_Such things are usually meant for the _ladies_, aren't they?_

He wonders where on Earth did the boy get one.

* * *

**Sarah**

"Miss O'Brien!"

The lady's maid, clearly not seeing the butler climbing the stairs behind her, curses under her breath, drops the small package she's been carrying onto a hall table, and rushes in the direction the housekeeper's voice came from.

The package slips off the tabletop and lands on the floor, directly in front of him. He picks it up gingerly, meaning to simply put it back—but as a few sheets of paper slip out of the plain, brown envelope, his eyes catch one particular passage and he has to stop, quickly reading through the whole thing.

He puts it back carefully after he's done reading, leaning against the wall to stop his head from swimming (_he must have climbed the stairs too fast_). Is that really what the ladies read? All this… elongation, stretching, decisiveness and strength? Is there no place for romance, for quiet courting?

His mind goes back to the thing he's just read, recreating the scene: a haste, semi-public encounter, the thrill of getting caught, the need and the…

No, he decides, this was _not_ about romance—but if he was to say it didn't have any quality in it, he would have lied.

"M. Carson, are you quite alright?"

His head snaps up and he all but blushes under Sarah O'Brien's questioning gaze. For a split second he thinks he'll be affected by the knowledge of the kinds of things she reads in her free time: thankfully, though, he manages to look her in the eye and lie easily, "Perfectly so, Miss O'Brien. I was simply catching my breath."

She gives him another suspicious look, grabs the envelope off the table and walks away swiftly, her skirts rustling around her ankles.

No, he's not affected at all.

Somewhere down the hall, keys jangle against one another.

He wonders if… but drops the idea as if it burnt him.

There's no use in contemplating impossible things.

* * *

**Anna**

Somebody must have mixed the laundry bags up.

What other reason would there be for him holding what he's currently holding in his hand?

He puts it down on his bed carefully, wiping sweaty hands (_that's what happens when a person touches such delicate material as this, correct?_) in a handkerchief, and regards the set of garments with interest. How could it even be comfortable to wear?, he wonders idly. The slip, he could understand: although it's mostly sheer, pale pink silk and some ribbons, and would do nothing to protect a person from the cold… The garter belt, he supposes he might imagine finding a use for it as well—but _these_? These are smaller than the piece of cloth his lordship keeps in the pocket of his afternoon jacket! Wouldn't it cause burns? For he is quite sure the part of anatomy that would come into contact with _that_ is a rather delicate one…

And why the ribbons on the sides? …_oh_. Now everything makes sense.

Except that is doesn't. Whoever could possibly be wearing something like this? One of the younger maids, perhaps? It couldn't be…

A single drop of sweat runs down his back, and he snaps out of pointless musings. Wrapping the 'troublesome' garments in a nightdress they were tangled with, he puts everything back in the bag and walks out of the room, looking for Anna. He'd better give this to her before one of the footmen sees it and gets a wrong idea.

Some of these boys have the dirtiest minds.

* * *

**William**

The lad passes him as he rushes towards the servants' hall in a hurry to get his dinner, and he frowns at the livery closet door standing ajar, letting dust and—God forbid!—moths in. Grunting, he walks over to close it, and something sticking out of William's livery pocket catches his eye.

He pulls out a photograph, its edges bearing evidence of having been touched reverently many a time, and leans against the closet as his eyes devour it, his mouth suddenly very dry (_he hadn't had anything to drink since tea time, that's why, of course_).

The photograph is slightly out of focus, the lines soft, the grey shadows obscuring the details: but it's enough to see that the subject is a woman, her back turned to the camera, slender arms holding up an exquisite mane of wild, curly hair, only the lower part of her face visible as she turns away with a playful smile and a raised chin, exposing her long, delicate neck, the expanse of white shoulders and upper back over a low-cut, patterned corset…

For a moment, he wonders if the hair is red, and whether the pattern really _does_ resemble a tartan…

That's_ enough_.

He storms out of the room and all but runs towards the servants' hall, clutching the photograph in his hand (and making sure it faces _towards_ his body). "William! Come here at once!"

The boy frowns, but stands up obediently and walks over to the butler, blinking. "What is it, Mr. Carson?"

He shoves the photo into the boy's hand, and hisses into his ear, "Keep these _things_ away from your workplace, do you understand?"

William blinks at him, not understanding. "Things, Mr. Carson? What things?"

He isn't sure if the boy is being difficult on purpose, or if perhaps he's made a mistake—which he couldn't have done, could he?—but there's no time to dwell on this, not when there's a faint sound of keys brushing against a hip in the corridor behind them.

"Mr. Carson, whatever's the matter?"

He grits his teeth, gives William one final glare, and turns on his heel, heading for his pantry.

He's surprised to find she follows him.

* * *

**Elsie**

She closes the door behind them and leans against the wood, watching him with an amused smile, her arms folded across her chest. The smug look on her face is _infuriating_, especially now he feels like _this_. "Is there anything I could help you with, Mrs. Hughes?" he snaps, wanting nothing more than to be left alone—well, at least nothing that he could actually have.

"I was wondering what would it be that breaks you."

His head snaps up and he frowns, fixing her with a hard gaze that doesn't seem to affect her at all. "Pardon me?"

She continues to smile, eyes never leaving his. "Personally, I would have thought the lingerie to be a safe bet, since you do seemed to prefer the actual sense of touch to conjuring images in your imagination."

_The toy in Thomas' room. Miss O'Brien's reading material. The 'mixed' laundry bag._ "You _planted_ all these things?"

"Of course I did." She looks at him with amusement, as if she could see no reason for his exasperation.

"But… why?"

She takes a step in his direction, and his smile changes, making her heart beat faster. "To find out what kind of entertainment you enjoy, of course." She reaches out and smoothes one of his lapels between her thumb and index finger. "I'm rather flattered it was my own photograph that did the trick."

His knees all but give in. "That… that was _you_?"

She nods, watching him from up-close. "Naturally, it had been taken many years ago, and I've changed somewhat since then: but thank you all the same." She pauses and bites her lip playfully. "I have a couple more pictures from that time. Would you care to see them some time, Mr. Carson?"

He swallows and takes her hand. Her skin is hot, so hot it almost burns him, but he'd be damned if he let her go now. "How about now, Mrs. Hughes?"

The smirk on her face is positively wicked now, but he doesn't mind. "I would suggest having dinner beforehand. You're going to need all the strength you can get."

**End**


End file.
